


32 Seconds

by intotheruins



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Realities, First Time, Frottage, M/M, Mindfuck, Mythology - Freeform, Non-Penetrative Sex, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 19:27:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1910910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intotheruins/pseuds/intotheruins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel wakes up, but he knows he's still in the wrong place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! I am making my debut in the world of Supernatural with this MADNESS. No, seriously, THIS IS WEIRD. This is actually a dream I had last night, and I typed up the entire thing in seven hours. 
> 
> Have fun, and try not to lose your mind. Unless you want to. 
> 
> Edited by outofperdition. Go read ["You Chase Away The Chill In Me"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1755791/chapters/3752985) if you like wincest.

Castiel is driving the Impala.

It's not that he remembers taking the steps required to get to the Impala, or that he recalls any event that that led to Dean saying “sure, you can drive!” He simply becomes aware that he _is_ driving. Only it's not the Impala he knows so well. This one is a convertible, and a manual. Dean's is automatic. Castiel knows this because Dean spent two hours explaining all the things that make his baby run, and Castiel listened intently because he loves the sound of Dean's voice, and because it made Dean smile.

Dean is in the passenger seat. His arm is stretched out along the door, fingers playing idly with the locking mechanism that's too close to the side mirror. It should be near his shoulder. Castiel glances towards it, tries to turn his head only to find his body is locked in place. The gas pedal is on the floor, but he's guiding the car down an open two lane road with an ease that would suggest he was going much more slowly. 

There's something wrong with the road, but Castiel can't figure out what it is when he can only stare straight ahead. 

“Dean?”

Dean's fingers stop playing with the lock. He turns towards Castiel almost lazily, his whole body languid and at ease against the leather. Half-lidded green eyes regard him with an expression Castiel can't read, and that bothers him immensely. He's usually very good at reading Dean, even if he doesn't always respond correctly. “Yes, Cas?”

“Where... what happened? Why am I driving?”

Dean chuckles, and says nothing.

Castiel hates feeling afraid.

Once again, the angel tries to look around. His eyes land on the rear view mirror, and it gives him just enough to realize what is wrong. There are two strips of land on either side of the road, and then nothing but sky. It feels too close, too vast, like it's coming down to swallow them, like maybe he's driving this fast because he's trying to run from it. Panic wells in his chest and makes him breathe harshly. Having the wrong grace has made him so much more susceptible to human emotions, and he can't push them back like he once would. 

“S'okay, Cas,” Dean says suddenly. A hand slides onto his shoulder and rubs in small, warm circles. “Don't look at the sky. Watch the road.”

Why? Why watch the road when his hands are moving the wheel without his consent, when he can stare at the patches of black sky fading darkly into blue and still guide the car through its twists and turns. His grip on the wheel is white-knuckle tight, and his knee is aching as he pushes the gas pedal impossibly harder. 

“Hey.” Dean brushes fingertips over his cheek, and the touch is affectionate, soothing. “Sh. Cas, you really need to look at the road. Trust me.”

Castiel does. He trusts Dean more than anything, despite their history. So he tears his eyes away from the changing sky and stares hard at the lanes of pavement ahead of him. 

Instantly, he calms.

“What is happening?” Castiel asks tightly. He tries to remember what came before this, but he can't. He reaches back further and remembers yesterday. Yesterday, he listened to Dean talk about his car. Yesterday, he leaned against the driver's side while Dean opened the hood. It was hot, and the hunter took off his shirt, baring arms slick with sweat. Castiel was strangely fascinated by it, and when he reached out to swipe a finger across a bicep, he was so surprised that Dean only cast him a side glance and laughed. 

Yesterday, Dean herded him into the Impala after they fixed a problem with the engine, dragged Sam away from what he insisted was some fascinating lore on djinns, and took them all into town to get ice cream. Castiel had never had ice cream before, and the sheer amount of flavors available at the Baskin Robbins overwhelmed him. Dean threw an arm around his shoulders and pointed out his own favorites until Castiel chose cookies & cream and strawberry, which Dean said was a horrible mixture but Castiel found delightful. 

Yesterday, Sam teased Dean about losing his personal space boundaries, and Dean declared Sam was jealous and left his arm around Castiel all afternoon. 

Yesterday, Castiel fell asleep on the couch watching Doctor Who, and woke up in the morning with Dean leaning over the back of the couch, smiling at him.

So he did wake up. Castiel  _ knows  _ he woke up. He even vaguely remembers Dean bringing him breakfast. The last thing he can clearly recall is the discovery that he hates bananas, and then he was just... here. 

And Dean is far too calm. Something is very wrong.

In a strange burst of knowledge, Castiel realizes there is no sun. The sky ahead of him is blue, and the sky behind him is black. There are stars dotting the space on either side of the road, and Castiel feels sick. He wants out of this. He wants to wake up on the couch with Dean smiling down at him. 

Maybe he had a reaction to the banana and this is just a very strange, very bad dream.

“That'd be frikkin' great,” Dean says with a sigh. “Eyes on the road, Cas, seriously. I'll tell you when you can look.”

Castiel becomes aware that the road is gradually sloping downwards. He doesn't want to think of what it might be going down into, but he thinks it must be oblivion. There is nothing but the sky, where else would the road lead? They're going to drive right off the edge, and Castiel can't stop it.

“Dean, please!” Castiel cries, the fear returning so sharply that it chokes him, stings at his eyes and makes him squeeze them closed against what has to be a nightmare. 

“I can't,” Dean whispers. “Fuck, Cas, I'm sorry. You're on your own here, for the most part.”

That is an angel's worst fear. Being utterly alone. 

Castiel tears his eyes open. It may not be the right Dean, but it's still Dean, and the sight of him anchors the angel. It's only as he turns to fully take in his features that he realizes he was able to move, that his head is now loosed from whatever grip held it so tightly. He looks out past Dean even though the hunter is shaking his head, and sees water. It lashes at the edges of the land, and wherever it touches the earth disappears. 

Frantically, Castiel casts his eyes to the rear view mirror. The water is surging up behind them, crystal clear and eating away everything they've driven across. 

“You weren't supposed to look yet,” Dean says sadly. 

_ "What is happening?” _ Castiel cries helplessly. He tries to yank his hands away from the steering wheel, but they won't budge. They've turned to stone against the leather, and the water is going to eat that away, too. 

Dean sighs. He reaches over the edge of the door, and returns with a handful of water. It really is perfectly clear, and there is no sun to cast any kind of shine across it. “You know, a lot of origin myths claim that creation began in the water,” Dean says absently. “Maybe it ends in the water, too.”

Dean spills it over his palm, and Castiel stares in horror at the hole in his hand. Another appears in his jeans where it splashes across him, and more spot the seat of the Impala. He's going to be sick. The emptiness is making him crazy, makes him want to scream, but he can do nothing but stare. 

“Just keep going, Cas,” Dean says thickly, and Castiel sees a tear trail down his face, erasing skin as it travels.

Castiel does scream, then. In rage at his helplessness, in horror at Dean's body slowly vanishing.

The water is right behind them now, reaching for them almost lazily, but it never quite touches the Impala. Castiel refrains from looking away from the road again, and he can't bring himself to look at Dean at all, not with those pieces just torn away from him, holes of non-existence mocking the rest of his form. 

There's nothing he can do. He keeps driving.

The blue of the sky eventually fades, and there is nothing left but the stars. Castiel expects the water to catch up to them when they begin to veer sharply downhill, but it doesn't. It stops right at the top and just hovers there, weaving gently as though being caressed by the wind. That frightens Castiel more than if it had just followed them down. 

“Dean,” Castiel whispers, barely forcing the name past a throat tight and choked. 

“I know, Cas,” Dean says, and he sounds angry and terrified all at once. “I'm so sorry, so sorry you have to do this alone.”

Castiel wants to say he's not alone. Dean is here. Only Dean isn't, not really. The tears in his existence scream the reality of that in his face. 

“Almost there,” Dean whispers. 

“Where?” Castiel begins to pant again, heart racing. “Where, Dean?”

“The end,” Dean answers, and stretches one hand forward to indicate the road. 

Which is, indeed, ending.

The road just... stops. Drops away, not broken or cracked, simply done. There is water everywhere, but unlike the water above this water is angry, thrashing waves that crash against the edge and scream fury into the last bit of land that won't give way. Castiel cries out again as the car roars towards it, can't take his foot off the gas, can't stop! 

The car goes over the edge. 

A huge sound, a tearing and cracking, the earth splitting away. A massive tree root explodes from the edge of the road and stretches out over the water. Tires strike the rough, grooved wood with a loud squeal and Castiel finds himself driving across it, straight for the tip that extends beyond the water and into nothing.

“Cas!” Dean's body that has been so relaxed is suddenly in motion. He's across the car and pressed into Castiel, one arm around the angel's shoulders and another around his waist, squeezing so tightly that for just a second, Castiel can see nothing but him. “It's okay, Cas! All you have to do is wake up!”

A scream like a banshee and a siren rolled into one pierces Castiel's ears, his mind. He screams back in utter agony, blood red exploding across his vision as the car drops off into nothing. 

The last thing he hears before the blackness swallows him is a faint, desperate, “I believe in you, Cas.”

~

Castiel wakes up.

He's lying face down on a white floor. He can hear the murmur of voices around him, and a steady kind of  _ click click click  _ against the floor that stops almost as soon as Castiel begins to focus on it. He forces his eyes open and realizes his clothing is gone. In its place is something white with gray threading, something thick and loose that reminds him of a dog's skin. It is uncomfortable against his own skin, like it's trying to sink in and replace it, so he reaches down to tug at it.

“Sorry, it won't come off,” a wheezy voice says above him. “Marks you so the others know you have to be here. Probably very uncomfortable for someone with your form, but don't pay it much mind. If you do, it'll only take advantage of it.”

Castiel pushes himself onto his knees, and lifts his head to find a bulldog standing in front of him. An old bulldog by the look of it, with graying fur and legs that are shaky and barely holding up his weight. 

“Did... you just talk to me?” Castiel asks hesitantly.

“I did,” the bulldog replies. “You picked the wrong fragment to pitch yourself into, but I'm sure we can get you out again. Maybe.”

“You can't be certain and uncertain at the same time,” Castiel points out. “That is a paradox.”

The bulldog nods. Its jowls and ears flop as it does so, and the amusing image is a relief after the ordeal in the Impala. “Normally that would be the case, but not so anymore. Quite confusing, I admit.”

Castiel nods absently, and pushes himself up onto his feet. Everything around him is white, with only hints of gray to break the monotony. There are animals all around him, mostly dogs, but he also sees an ostrich, several cats, and a single squirrel, and they all look like they are about to fall apart at the seams. None of them are holding still but the bulldog, and they all keep chatting away about things he can't seem to understand. 

“We're here to hold it off,” the bulldog says when Castiel looks down with confusion set deep in his eyes. “Can't do it indefinitely, but we can keep it at bay a little while longer. Do you understand?”

“No,” Castiel replies helplessly. “I don't.”

The bulldog nods sadly. “Unfortunately, I can't help you there. Not much. Not at all. You'll be witness to it soon enough.” The dog trots forward and bumps his head against Castiel's knee. “We'll be friends, while you're here. I can protect you from the fear for a short while, but then you're on your own again.”

Castiel is just so grateful for a friend that he falls to his knees and begins to scratch behind the dogs ears. The bulldog lets out a deep groan and leans into the attention. “Where is Dean? He was in the car with me.”

The angel suspects he doesn't have to explain how he got here. He suspects explanations are useless.

“Ah, can't help you, not a bit, just a little.” The dog tilts back his head and his tongue lolls out. Castiel keeps scratching, almost feels compelled. “There is a key, and you already know of it.”

The ostrich Castiel spotted early totters towards them. It stretches out its long neck and runs its beak through Castiel's hair, very gently, like it's preening him. “Tonight is your time,” the ostrich says to the bulldog. “Not long to give him rest.”

The dog nods. “Of course. But enough. Must be enough, or it will not be.”

Castiel wants to ask their names, but somehow he knows they don't have any. So he lets the ostrich preen him, and pets the bulldog, and allows the strange, blanketing calm they are causing wash over him in thick, welcome waves.

He walks with the bulldog later, with no memory of how they got there, but here it doesn't scare him. The rooms are all squares of white, with white stairs in sets of three and glassless windows where cats sleep on the sills. Castiel knows he can't stay here. There's a niggling sensation in the back of his mind, and he keeps hearing Dean's voice:  _ I believe in you.  _ It disturbs him that Dean isn't here now, in any form, but the calm these creatures are gifting to him keeps the worst of it away.

Castiel drifts, and occasionally pets the bulldog. He listens to the cats talk about fragments, but they never mention what is fragmented. The dogs seem to agree, but not on what is broken, or if they can even truly say that it is broken. The cats are realists, Castiel thinks distantly, and the dogs are optimists. 

The bulldog eventually leads him to a room that is different. There is a small bed, low to the ground and colorless, against one white wall, and a hole of deep darkness in the center of the room. The animals are gathered there, and the ostrich is standing by the hole, gazing solemnly into it. The bulldog trots to the bed where it lays down, seeming exhausted, and Castiel follows because he feels that he should.

“It is bigger,” the ostrich says quietly. He looks up sadly at the dog. “Your sacrifice may mean nothing.”

A long tongue lolls out, and Castiel reaches out to scratch between the dog's ears. He feels disconnected from what is happening, an observer. Even the fur beneath his hand is distant, barely felt. 

“It means nothing, and everything,” the bulldog replies calmly. “One more may be all that is required. Just a thought,” and here the dog tips his head back and stares straight into Castiel's eyes. “Just a thought. A fragment.”

He's being told something, the angel realizes. That one sentence is important, but he can't for the life of him discern how. 

“Take a moment,” the ostrich says, and the dog rolls onto his back. Castiel reaches down and rubs a palm across his belly, and the bulldog lets out another one of those deep, satisfied groans and kicks his back leg rhythmically against Castiel's knee.

“Time,” the ostrich says, and the bulldog stands. It trots with seemingly no concern to the hole, and steps into its center.

The fear returns. Castiel cries out, reaching for the animal as it begins to fade. It twists back to see him, and its eyes are a vivid green.

“Yesterday,” it says, in a gruff voice that is not its own. “I warned you that bananas are disgusting.”

“ _DEAN!”_

~

Castiel wakes up.

He is sitting on a staircase, leaning against the railing, head tucked against his knees. He lifts his head sharply, and blurts out, “It was just a thought!”

“What?” A voice that is at once familiar and unfamiliar calls out. 

Castiel scrambles to his feet, grasping at the railing as excitement makes him feel weak. A thought, they were just thoughts! Fragments of thought! Except... he shakes, hands gripping the railing tightly. No, that's not all it is. But it is a piece. 

The hands on the railing are different. He gazes at them a moment and realizes they are thinner, lighter than his own. He looks down at his body and oh, interesting. He has breasts. 

“Cas? You fall asleep on the stairs again?”

“Sam?” Castiel asks quietly. It sounds like Sam, but more feminine. His own voice sounds softer, less gravely. He's wearing the same clothing, and when he reaches up his hair is cut the same, but his face feels smooth and rounder than his own body. 

“Yeah, I'm in the kitchen. Or the living room. Crap, will you quit changing them around!”

Slowly, Castiel walks down the stairs. He is barefoot, and the wood feels too real beneath the soles of his feet. “I'm sorry,” he calls without really knowing why. “I don't mean to.”

A figure steps out into what appears to be a library. There are shelves upon shelves of books, in a small, cozy space, and Castiel thinks Sam would love this. He'd spend hours in here reading while Dean avoided the place entirely and called him a nerd. 

The figure looks like Sam, but just like Castiel, he is in a feminine form. Same height, same long hair, same wide, infectious smile, but with wider hips and a bountiful chest. “You okay, Cas?” Sam asks. 

Castiel nods, slowly. On a hunch, he asks, “Where is Dean?”

Sam rolls hi-- her eyes. “Not that again! What's with this Dean fantasy of yours, lately? We don't even know anyone called Dean.”

_We do_ , Castiel thinks desperately. _We know him too well._

“I... must have been dreaming,” Castiel says slowly. He scrubs a hand across his face, and finds it curious that he's come to consider himself male enough that he can't switch pronouns despite his current form. He never applied a gender to himself before he took a vessel, before he became human. “What are you doing in the kitchen?”

Sam rolls her eyes. “It's the living room again, so nothing. Will you come switch it back? I was trying to make tea, and I don't know how you move them around.”

“Yes... alright.” Castiel has no idea how he's going to switch them around now, but he follows Sam into a large room, darkly painted, with a thick rug a color he's never seen before, and no furniture. There is only a single lamp, in the center, and it is blinking in a steady rhythm that Castiel recognizes as SOS. 

Whatever is happening, Castiel realizes with a shudder, he's running out of time.

The angel blinks, and thinks he'd like this to be a kitchen again, and then it is. There's a long counter in the center of the room, stretched over black and white tiles, and more counters along the walls. Sam sighs happily and takes a steaming teapot from a red circle on the counter. “Thanks, Cas. I know you don't mean to switch them, I shouldn't get mad.”

“It's alright,” Castiel says absently. He reaches out and runs a hand over the counter. It feels smooth and cool, like marble. Everything feels real here, too real, and he's not even sure what that means. He just asked a living room to change into a kitchen, and yet it feels... normal. Comfortable, even, like he's always had this ability.

“Sam?” Castiel walks over to stand beside Sam at the counter. She lifts a large green mug with a leaf on the handle to her lips, but tilts hazel eyes down to indicating she's listening. “Do I ever... move anything else around?”

Sam takes a sip and sets the mug down on the counter, chuckling. “Of course. Every time you think of this Dean chick you move something. Last time it was my whole bedroom. You replaced it with the neighbor's cat room, remember? Sonya was  _ pissed. _ ”

And, oddly, Castiel suddenly does remember. He remembers sitting on the stairs where he woke, daydreaming about a feminine version of Dean, who was showing him how to put the Impala's engine back together. In his drifting he hadn't been concentrating enough on his more subconscious thoughts, and he'd switched rooms around without realizing it. 

The memory sits there in the forefront of Castiel's mind, and he feels sick. 

“You okay?” Sam reaches out and wraps a hand that's still huge around Castiel's shoulder. “Hey, it's okay, she forgave you, remember? She was just so scared you hurt Mr. Fizzles, and – “

“What did you say?” Castiel asks sharply.

Sam blinks. “Um... Mr. Fizzles? Her cat?”

No. No! Mr. Fizzles was a sock puppet! Dean told him about Garth and his sock puppet once while he was drunk! They were having a quiet night, Sam had gone to bed. Castiel had been made to watch Star Trek: The Original Series for five hours, though he was actually enjoying it quite a lot, and Dean, who rarely drank anymore, downed a bottle of Jack Daniels and started talking. A lot. Garth, Castiel found out, was someone Dean secretly kind of adored. He talked about him for nearly twenty minutes, relating the entire story of the sock puppet. Castiel remembers gazing at Dean's face, watching him drift off, his words trailing away as he slumped into the couch, and feeling so much fondness swelling in his chest that he was certain it couldn't be contained.

“Mr. Fizzles knows you're lying,” Castiel whispers, and the line catches in his mind as  _ real. _

Sam's face twists in on itself, a grotesque, warped mask. The entire world rips out from under Castiel's feet like so much tissue paper, and he hears a scream of fury just like the waves that had tried to consume the last shred of land. 

He's floating in black. There are fragments all around him, shreds of light and mass. Doorways. Castiel wants to reach for one, but he's afraid. He's afraid that if he moves, his progress will be slowed. He's done something  _ right _ , but he doesn't know what comes next.

_ There is a key, and you already know of it. _

_ I believe in you.  _

Dean. Dean is the key. He has to find Dean!

~

Castiel wakes up, but he knows he's still in the wrong place.

He's on a boat. He's sitting on the floor, leaning back against a crate. There's something twisted through the floor of the boat, appearing and disappearing repeatedly like a large brown snake. Castiel reaches out to touch it, feels the deep grooves and wonders what it is, why it's here.

Why is any of this here?

“You awake, brother?” someone asks in a Louisiana accent. Castiel looks up. The vampire Benny Lafitte is standing above him, arms crossed, gaze oddly amused as he stares down at the angel. 

Benny never called him brother. That title was reserved for Dean.

“I don't know,” Castiel says, and he feels like he's about to cry with the knowledge of it. He chokes it back and climbs to his feet. The sound of water splashing against the boat causes immediate panic, until he leans out to look and sees the blue-gray waves. It's not the anti-creation that came to consume them in the first world. It's just water. 

He's so relieved he nearly sinks back onto the floor. 

The boat pitches, and the limb-like thing groans and twists, tightening its grip. Castiel stares at it hard. He knows what it is, he thinks, but the memory is eluding him.

“That'll happen here,” Benny says. “Funny, you jumpin' into this piece. Woulda thought you'd grab hold of that bit of crazy.”

“This whole thing is crazy,” Castiel mutters. He slides his palms over his eyes and wishes he would just wake up beside Dean. The fear and the confusion are wearing him thin, so thin he feels one good gust of wind will blow him away, and he'll cease to exist.

Benny laughs. A warm hand lands on his shoulder. “Yeah, but the question is, which is the right crazy?”

Castiel stares at the... the... what is it? A living brown limb? “I don't understand,” he sighs. 

“That's alright, brother.” Benny slides an arm over Castiel's shoulders and pulls him in. The angel's so tired he lets it happen, even rests his cheek against Benny's chest. “You can just let go now, if you want to.”

Castiel sighs again, relieved. Yes, he'd like to let go. He's so tired. Benny feels warm and safe, the rocking of the boat is comforting. He hears a groan in the distance, something agonized, but he ignores it. 

Something grabs hold of his ankle. Castiel looks down through heavy eyes and sees the very tip of the... the  _ root.  _ It's the root from the first world, circling around, gripping until pain rockets up his leg and makes him cry out. Benny stumbles back, and his face twists and warps just like Sam's did. 

This time, there's nothing but black, and Dean's voice.

_ I believe in you. You have the key, Cas, you have it! _

“You're the key,” Castiel murmurs. He feels like he's floating just above the water, the anti-creation that's coming to claim him. 

He hears a frustrated sort of growl, the kind of sound Dean makes when he's not getting through to someone.  _ I'm only part of the key, Cas. I know you're tired, fuck, I know you're so tired, but Cas, you have to move! Think! What do you know right now? _

Castiel doesn't want to move, or think for that matter, but Dean is asking him to so he does. “I know... I have a key. I know you're here, somehow, but you can't help. I know something is trying to stop me. Something wants me to let go. I know the root is important. I know my memories are important.”

_ Mr. Fizzles knows you're lying.  _ A laugh echoes around him, purely  _ Dean, _ and it makes Castiel smile.  _ That was gorgeous, Cas. What else?  _

What else? He doesn't know anything else. He just wants to sleep. He just wants to  _ stop _ , please, let him stop... 

_ Cas! _

The angel blinks rapidly, and feels something just brush his fingers. He looks down. The water is right there, it's nearly on him. 

“I know I'm never in the right place!” The words come out a scream as panic sets in again. He tries to move away and can't, he's caught and he's about to be consumed. 

A hand breaches the darkness and reaches for him. Without hesitation, Castiel grasps it.

~

Castiel wakes up.

And he's still in the wrong place.

He's standing on a beach, feet bare and toes digging into pure white sand. He's wearing ripped jeans and no shirt, and the bulldog is trotting towards him, looking younger and refreshed. Its legs are wet, and when it stops it bumps its head against Castiel's knee like it did when they first met.

“Hello,” Castiel murmurs. “I thought you were gone.”

The bulldog tilts back its head and beams up at him. “I would have been, but you held on to me.”

“I... what?” Castiel kneels down to pet his friend -- and this dog, he thinks, really is his friend. It's not like the others asking him to relax, to stop fighting. The dog merely offers a reprieve, and asks him to keep going. 

The bulldog licks Castiel's hand, and then bends its head to lick both of his bare feet. Castiel immediately thinks of the stories in the Bible where women would wash Jesus's feet, and he recoils. He is in no way deserving of that kind of reverence and affection. 

“Stop,” the bulldog says, and Castiel freezes. The dog licks his feet again, twice more for each. Three is a powerful number. Castiel feels dizzy. 

“Can you keep going?” The bulldog asks, and Castiel nods slowly. He feels like he could do anything right now, and he's not even sure why. 

“Remember to listen to Dean,” the dog calls as the world fades out. 

~

Castiel wakes up, and he's... closer.

He's standing on a road, his feet still bare. He can feel the tops tingling from where the dog licked them, and he feels oddly energized. Mountains make a swift climb towards the sky, the road cutting up and through, and he recalls this place as the base of a pass he'd taken with Sam and Dean as they headed for a hunt in Missoula, Montana. There was a pull-off near the top, and Dean insisted they stop and take a picture. He got one of Castiel hanging over the railing, amazed at how high they were and forgetting for a moment how fragile his body could be now, while Sam held on to the back of coat and laughed. 

The angel starts walking. There is no one here, no life at all aside from the trees. They stand perfectly still, no wind to caress their needles. Castiel is okay. For now, he's alright, and he's going to hold on to that feeling for as long as possible, despite the eerie silence.

_ I believe in you. _

It's whispered against his ear, and Castiel closes his eyes even as he keeps walking. “I wish I believed in myself,” he murmurs aloud. 

He reaches the place where Dean parked, and the Impala is there. The engine is running, a low rumble in idle. He reaches out and smooths a hand across her surface, the metal hot under his palm. Castiel walks to the railing and places both hands on it. He remembers the feel of Sam hanging on to him, of Dean laughing in the background, and wondering if this is what family feels like. Real family. 

Something hot and  _ right  _ surges through his entire being, and he hears a scream in the distance.

_ The Impala. _

Castiel whirls and climbs into the driver's seat. 

Too late. The water comes from out of nowhere, surging up from under the road and consuming it, wiping away its existence like it was nothing more than a dry erase marker on a white board. Castiel tries to turn the car, but once again he's locked onto the road, unable to turn even his head. 

The earth cracks and splits, a huge groan rents the air. Castiel can hear the screaming in the distance, and then he's flying off the end of the root that has stretched out to send him away from the water.

~

Castiel wakes up, and he  _ knows.  _

He is the other half of the key.

A triumphant yell fills the air. Castiel briefly catches a glimpse of green eyes. He doesn't understand, how can he possibly be the rest of the key? 

“What do I do?” he calls desperately.

He's back in the driver's seat of the Impala. Dean is back in the passenger seat, arm slung over the car door, but now he's leaning towards Castiel, the fire of excitement in his vivid gaze. 

“I can't tell you,” he whispers fiercely. “Think. What have you done every time you come to a new place?”

“Wake up,” Castiel replies immediately. The water is behind them, but suddenly Castiel is furious. He's not going to let it beat him!

“And what do you have to do to wake up?”

Castiel hesitates, and then says quietly, “Fall asleep.”

“Right. But that's not working, is it?” Dean stares at him, hard. His fingers are gripping the side of the door, and Castiel sees his entire body begin to shake. 

“It's not enough,” Castiel realizes. “Sleep... that's what they all want me to do. Sleep and not wake up. That's what ends it.” 

Dean is nodding frantically now, so Castiel keeps going. “I have to wake up in the right place, completely. But I've been trying, Dean, I don't under...”

And then he does. It smacks into him with such clarity that he can't believe he didn't see it before. That's why he can't move his hands on the wheel. That's why the root keeps saving him. 

“It's keeping everything together,” Dean says sharply. “The tree. You know which one.”

The tree of life. Its roots. Its roots are holding the last shards of whatever was happening together, keeping him from falling until he could figure out what it was he had to do.

“I have to die,” Castiel whispers. 

Dean swallows hard, and nods once.

And suddenly Castiel can move his hands. He yanks the wheel to the right, and straight into the root that rises up out of the ground to meet him. 

~

Castiel drifts.

He is weightless. The tiredness in his bones is gone because he no longer has bones. He feels somewhat like he does in his true form, but somehow more and less at the same time. He is in darkness, but it is not threatening. It's... good. Very good. It's restful. 

“I'm glad,” a voice says, and it sounds like the bulldog. “But you're not done quite yet, I'm afraid.”

“No.” Castiel is surprised he has a voice, considering he doesn't have a body. He does, however, appear to have a mind, or perhaps this is just his soul. “But I don't know what comes next.”

“That's alright, I can help you now.” The bulldog trots into view, padding along on the darkness like it's a solid thing. “I can't tell you what happened. Well, I could, but I'm not going to. Sam will do that for me. Dean really has been here the whole time, just like you thought, but you were the one that had to do this.”

Castiel wants to nod, only he doesn't have the form to do so. He thinks the bulldog sees it anyway. He doesn't know why he had to do this, but he knows Dean will explain it to him. 

“What do you remember? Before you became aware of driving in the Impala the first time.”

“Dean,” Castiel says immediately. “And bananas. I don't like bananas.”

The bulldog barks a laugh. “You are still in the kitchen, Castiel. You never left it. You just fought and won a war in 32 seconds. Well, you've nearly won the war. You have one more step you need to take, and I think you know what it is.”

Castiel thinks he does, too, but he can't quite grasp it. “When it's done... what will have happened?”

The dog comes forward, and suddenly Castiel is aware of his body. He feels the lick he gets across one cheek, and it makes him smile. “You'll have saved not just the world,” he says. “But all of reality. Those fragments? Those were shreds of everything tearing apart, held together by the tree, and your mind. I think you noticed that when you realized you could affect Sam's world.”

Castiel nods. “I didn't do a very good job.”

“On the contrary, you did an excellent job!” the bulldog protests. “You were affecting them simply by breaking free of them. Every time you touched another fragment, you brought it a little closer to what you knew to be reality. It's almost time to wake up now, Castiel. Really wake up. There's something you have to do once you are awake, and you have to do it very quickly. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Castiel smiles again. “Yes, I understand.”

Castiel wakes up.

He's finally home.

~


	2. Chapter 2

Castiel is lying on the kitchen floor. Someone is yelling above him, and Dean is crashing down on top of him, yanking him against his chest and breathing against his neck, gripping so tightly that Castiel can't breathe. He doesn't care. This is real, this is _real._ He made it!

“Dean.” Castiel throws his arms around his hunter and hugs him tightly back. 

“I thought you were gone,” Dean mumbles into Castiel's skin, and Castiel is shocked to feel a tear splash hotly against his throat. “Fuck, Cas, I thought you were gone. I couldn't do anything about it. I kept trying to help you but I could only do so much, and then you just collapsed and you were so pale...”

“I'm here,” Castiel whispers. He rubs his hands across Dean's back, so warm and solid and _real_ , rubs his cheek against Dean's and revels in the burn of the stubble along his flesh. “I'm here, Dean, it's okay.”

Something snuffles beside his ear, and a lick is swiped against his cheek. Castiel turns, mortified to see the bulldog standing right there, but when he whines and wags his tail Castiel knows it's okay. It's not another fragment, this  _is_ real. And there's something he has to do to keep it that way.

Dean rears up over him, hands planted on either side of Castiel's head, staring down at him like he's going to spend the next few hours just drinking him in. 

Ah. That's what it is.

Castiel reaches up with one hand, winds it around the back of Dean's neck, and pulls him down. 

The kiss is somewhat awkward for the first few seconds. Dean clearly wasn't expecting it, and Castiel isn't sure how to go about it, so he just presses his lips firmly against Dean's and sighs into his mouth. And then Dean just  _surges_ into him, full weight pressing him down into the tile as his lips part and he swipes his tongue greedily across Castiel's. The angel opens to him immediately, happy to let Dean lead him into a dance of tongues and teeth and lips, overwhelmed by the warmth and intimacy of it. 

_ You have won. _

When they break apart, Sam is kneeling beside them looking overjoyed, and Castiel realizes in a flash of clarity that Sam already knew. The bulldog is still there, barking excitedly, and Castiel is surprised to see Sam reach down and pat his head. 

“We'll explain,” Sam says. He reaches out and slides a hand over Castiel's hair once, looking just as relieved as Dean that Cas is alive. 

Castiel just nods, and lets Dean haul him to his feet and lead him into the living room.

~

Dean won't let Castiel out of his sight, or really out of his reach at all. The angel doesn't mind. They sit on the couch side by side, Dean's arm wound around Castiel's shoulders, Castiel pulled in tight against his side. He keeps dropping small kisses in Castiel's hair, and after the day... or 32 seconds, apparently... he's had, he doesn't make it for the explanation. He falls asleep right there in Dean's arms. 

The bulldog is there when he dreams. He dreams he's back on the beach with white sand, feet bare again, and the bulldog is standing before him. He kneels to stroke a hand down its head, and it wags its tail and licks his feet. 

Castiel can't wrap his mind around the fact that he's done something this right. He's not worthy enough to save reality. He's messed up too many times.

“You are,” two voices say as one. The bulldog's, and Dean's. Dean is striding towards him on the beach, completely naked and absolutely comfortable like that. He kneels down beside Castiel and kisses him, and Castiel knows that this isn't the real Dean. It's a figment of his subconscious. 

Which means his subconscious is telling him it's okay to forgive himself. 

“Now you've got it,” the bulldog says, and Castiel sees him for just a second as what he really is.

“The angels thought you were dead,” Castiel breathes. 

The form shifts, and for just that one second there's a man standing in front of Cas, dark skinned and dark haired, with the widest, happiest smile the angel has ever seen, but not the most beautiful. Not to him. 

“I was,” he said. “But you held on to me.”

And then he's gone. Dean twists to look at him and asks curiously, “Who was that?”

Castiel smiles, and says nothing.

~

Castiel wakes up, and he's in Dean's arms.

He can't figure out what he did to deserve this, but he has it on two very good authorities that it's okay. 

The TV is on, and Dean and Sam are watching something Castiel doesn't recognize on mute. Dean still has his arm around Castiel's shoulders and there's a hand on his thigh. The bulldog is gone. Castiel is dying to know why a bulldog, of all forms, but he suspects he'll never have the answer to that, so he lets it go.

Dean tilts his head down when Castiel burrows his head further into his hunter's shoulder. “Hey,” he says softly. “You awake?”

“A little,” Castiel replies just as quietly. He slides an arm over Dean's waist and smiles into his throat. Dean smells good, faintly of salty sweat and some kind of spicy aftershave. His skin is rough against Castiel's nose, and he rubs into it just to feel how real it is. 

Dean chuckles. “Want me to wait a bit?”

Castiel knows what he means, and he just nods against his shoulder. “Yes.”

Dean falls silent. Sam glances over at them and smiles, and Castiel smiles back at him. He wonders how long Sam has known, and decides to ask him later.

“What is this?” Castiel asks, waving towards the screen.

“Serendipity,” Dean replies, and he sounds mildly disgusted. “Sam's forcing me to watch it.”

“It's awesome and you know it,” Sam says lightly, seeming totally unfazed by Dean's apparent lack of enjoyment. 

“What's it about?” Castiel asks. 

He spends the next fifteen minutes listening to Dean explain the plot of the movie. He barely takes in any of it, all he really cares about is the low, rough rumble of Dean's voice. Castiel curls his legs up under him on the couch and presses himself even closer, unable to get enough of the fact that he's with Dean like this. 

“Hey. Dean.” Sam tosses a huge, teasing grin at his brother. “You do realize you two are even more sickeningly cute than this movie, right?”

“Shut up, bitch!” Dean barks back, but his tone is just as teasing, and Castiel can see laughter in his eyes. 

Castiel is still exhausted and unwilling to move when the movie ends. No one asks him to. Dean picks him up and carries him to his room, muttering under his breath about how 'fuckin' heavy' Cas is. Castiel's sure his body isn't all that light. There is nearly six feet of it, and Jimmy was a runner when he was alive, so there is a fair amount of lean muscle packed onto that height. 

Castiel has never truly appreciated Dean's choice of a memory foam mattress. Now, as the hunter half-lowers, half-drops him onto it, he does. Very much. It's not exactly soft, but it molds around him, taking all the pressure off his body and making him feel almost as weightless as he did before he woke up in the real world. 

Dean climbs in behind him, spooning up against his back and slinging an arm over his waist, and that just makes it even better.

“Was it really only thirty-two seconds?” Castiel murmurs.

Dean nuzzles Castiel's neck, and a soft sigh is exhaled against his skin. “Yeah,” Dean answers gruffly. “And for ten seconds after that, we thought you were dead. Sam counted.”

A hand curls into the material of Castiel's dress shirt, just over his stomach. Dean leans in harder behind him, and a firm kiss is pressed into the side of Castiel's throat. Castiel arches into it, throwing his head back over Dean's shoulder and inviting him to go further, so much further.

“Later,” Dean promises. “Go to sleep.”

Castiel does, certain in the knowledge that he will once again wake up in Dean's arms.

~

Castiel wakes up, and there's something hard pressed into the small of his back.

Oh. He wants that. 

The first time Dean ever broached the subject of sex in conversation, Castiel was about to die. Or at least, he'd been so sure he was, and Dean seemed certain that sex was something he _needed_ to experience. Still new to humanity and raw from being disconnected from his siblings, Castiel felt nervousness, confusion, terror, and excitement all at once. Dean was still his only anchor at that point, his only teacher for what it meant to be free-willed, and he was terrified of losing him. So he went to the den of inequity with Dean, and almost let some lost soul called Chastity (her real name was Abby) show him what Dean was so certain he had to try.

It felt wrong. Castiel didn't want it, he didn't know her. In an effort to do just that, he'd delved into her mind and seen the abandonment issues she had due to her father and his hatred of his job and his mediocre life. He hadn't meant to frighten her, he just wanted to comfort her. If it ended the sexual advances he hadn't wanted in the first place, so much the better.

Now? Castiel wants. Castiel wants everything Dean can give him. 

The angel shifts upwards just a little and grinds back against Dean. His hips roll in tight, quick circles, and he hears the second Dean wakes up and gasps at the pressure on his erection. Castiel knows humans can wake up with erections in the morning for, as far as he can see, no good reason. He experienced it several times as a human, even came to enjoy it. 

This is for him. He knows it's for him, and he _wants it._

“Whoa, Cas, what... oh _fuck._ ” Dean bites off whatever words he was going to say. A hand curls over Castiel's hip, fingers slotting into the hollow of it through his pants. “Hey, we can do this later, we don't have to – “

“Now,” Castiel demands. “ _Now_ Dean, explain things to me later.”

“Okay.” Dean buries his face in the back of Castiel's neck and groans. “Okay, what do you want? We can do better than this.”

Castiel laughs breathlessly. “Show me.” _Show me everything._

Dean lunges back and away from him, startling Castiel as he tries to grind into him and falls onto his back instead. Dean lurches up onto his feet, sinking into the mattress, and yanks his t-shirt over his head, baring the muscles and scars hunting has brought him to Castiel's eyes. He works without hesitation at the button of his jeans next, and Castiel watches hungrily as he lowers the zipper and works them down his legs and off. Dean's cock is thick and flushed. A glance tells Castiel it's nearly seven inches, and he wants all of it. He sits up sharply and rolls forward onto his knees without thinking, letting instinct guide him as he slides his lips over the head. 

“ _Shit,_ Cas!” Dean yelps in surprise, but he sounds pleased, too. Castiel can hear the warmth of it in his voice. Hands come down and bury themselves in his hair. The angel hums happily, and slides down Dean's length until he starts to choke. He almost uses his grace to stop the convulsions and force the whole of Dean inside him, but he thinks that would ruin the experience. So he backs off, but only as much as he absolutely has to. 

“S'good, Cas,” Dean groans appreciatively. “Careful with the teeth... yeah, yeah, that's good, so good, Cas, you're so good...” He strokes one of his hands through Castiel's hair, and Cas knows he can't be that good, it's his first time, but he appreciates the babbled praise nonetheless.

Cas has only had Dean in his mouth for maybe a minute when Dean pulls him away. “Gonna come if you keep doing that,” Dean pants, grinning down at him. 

“I want you to come,” Castiel says, and Dean laughs.

“Yeah, I want me to come too,” Dean replies, his eyes bright with amusement. He drops so he's on his knees, level with Cas. “But not yet.”

He leans forwards and kisses Castiel, and it's nothing like the first one. This is slower and considerably deeper. Dean takes his time mapping the entirety of the angel's mouth, moves his tongue across Castiel's slick and smooth until Castiel is a whimpering mess. He realizes he's clawing at his shirt only when Dean unbuttons it for him and slides it off, tossing it down to the floor. His pants follow. Dean slides one hand down over Castiel's ass, palm warm against his skin, and uses the other to guide their cocks upwards so he can pull Castiel in tight against his hips. The angel is surrounded by soft and hard and hot, and he ruts into it eagerly. Tingles race up Castiel's erection to settle somewhere in the base of his spine, and the moan bitten into Dean's collar bone comes from so deep inside him he thinks it may have begun in his grace.

“Want you.” Castiel shoves his nose into the crook of Dean's shoulder and neck, burrows in there like he's trying to climb inside. Maybe he is. “Want you, Dean.”

“You got me,” Dean answers, pulling him in even tighter, so tight they almost can't move. 

“Want more.” Wants everything. He wants Dean all over him, in him, around him, anything he can get. He wants to feel Dean's weight pressing him into the bed, and then he wants to try it all in reverse. 

Reluctantly, Dean pulls away. “Okay, lie face down. I've got an idea.”

Cas does so immediately. He feels Dean pull at his ankles until he's straightened his legs out, and then the hunter straddles his thighs. His cock slides, hot and slick, against Castiel's perineum and down over his balls, until it's slotted part way up along Castiel's own cock. The angel shudders and pushes back against all that warmth, wanting Dean's weight to settle fully against him.

“Close your thighs,” Dean instructs. Castiel feels palms brace against his shoulder blades, and then Dean just holds himself there, and that is _not_ what Castiel wants. So he does as requested and closes his thighs around Dean's dick, squeezing as tightly as he can. It feels good having the hard length of Dean trapped there, even better when he starts to move, thrusting gently again and again, rubbing deliciously against Castiel until the angel is thrashing back against him.

“ _Dean,_ ” Castiel hisses, just as Dean murmurs, “Damn, Cas, I wanna try this.”

The angel is only too happy to comply with that desire, and the next thing he knows he's the one with his dick trapped between Dean's thighs, and Dean's the one clawing at the pillow, thighs quivering, back arching as he tries to get Castiel closer. The angel can't remember ever having felt this good, not even the few times he's played with himself. That was exciting, but this is so much more. His whole body feels tight and too hot, every nerve over-sensitized, sending shocks of sensation whenever any part of him so much as brushes against Dean. There's delicious pressure building deep in his belly, and one particularly wild thrust has his cock slipping up and between Dean's asscheeks. The head drags slick across Dean's hole, and the hunter freezes under him so abruptly that Castiel stops, afraid he's done something wrong.

“No!” Dean pants. “Don't stop... do that again. On...” He twists his head, and Castiel can see a light flush painting his cheeks. He wiggles his ass against Castiel's cock and the angel groans. “There, rub there again.”

Castiel nods. He pulls his hips back and slides his cock along the crack again, slowly, and watches with fascination as Dean falls apart. He would have expected Dean to hate this, but instead he seems to be drowning in it, hands tearing at the sheets and eyes squeezed shut as he pants Castiel's name in a constant mantra. Castiel sits up on his knees, still straddling Dean, and takes hold of the base of his cock. Dean twists his head around, a protest in his eyes over the lack of movement, but it's lost in the shout he lets out when Castiel begins rubbing the head of his cock repeatedly over Dean's hole.

“Oh fuck, Cas, yes, don't stop, don't stop, feels so good, love you, angel.” The hunter is thrusting his hips frantically into the bed and back onto Cas's dick, and the angel barely has the presence of mind to keep rubbing. He can't believe he just heard that. He's not even sure if Dean's aware that he said it, and he doesn't think it matters. A grin bursts free onto Castiel's face, and he presses down harder, rubbing faster as he tries to keep up with the desperate roll of Dean's hips. He slips a hand down between Dean's legs and rubs his fingers across Dean's balls. Dean lets out a strangled shout and comes, grinding hard into the mattress and growling Cas's name. His body goes limp for a moment, and Castiel listens to his harsh breathing with an immensely satisfied sensation settling inside him.

And then Dean wriggles back until Castiel's cock has slipped between his cheeks again. “Come on, Cas,” Dean pants. “Gotta come for me.”

The angel's already strung out and on the edge just from watching Dean. He thrusts against the hunter, moaning as his cock slides through precome and sweat, bracing his hands against Dean's shoulders. The pressure inside him is so tight, so close, just a few more thrusts and he'll be there...

“Come on, Cas,” Dean growls. He thrusts back against the angel. “Come on, come all over me.”

Castiel's arms give out and he crashes down into Dean, who only grunts and keeps right on churning his hips against the angel's cock. He can feel it starting, the tightness is beginning to explode, and he drops his head down over Dean's shoulder and whispers, “Love you, hunter,” before it's there, rushing out of him, thick white heat splashing down against Dean's back. It's so much, too much, nothing like when he did it himself and Castiel can't even breathe. It holds him in its grip for what feels like a small eternity before letting him go, sinking him into a pool of lazy aftershocks that have him sighing and rubbing up against Dean's back like a cat.

“Yeah,” Dean says breathlessly. “I hear ya.” And then he laughs, and rolls them over so he has Cas pulled up against him, even though they're sticky and disgusting. 

“We need a shower,” Castiel murmurs sleepily. 

“Oh yeah, shower would be good,” Dean replies, and he sounds much more energetic than Castiel feels right now. 

They lay like that for a while, until Castiel is fully awake again and Dean is dragging him into the shower. Castiel almost expects more sex, but instead they simply touch. Castiel washes Dean's hair and lets Dean do the same, runs his hands all over Dean's back and chest, his arms, soaks him in like a sponge until he's certain they each have a part of the other inside them.

It's nearly noon when they finally make it to the kitchen. Sam is sitting at the table, drinking coffee and reading. “I hate you both so much,” he says without looking up.

Castiel stops dead, mouth dropping open to ask why, but Dean starts laughing so he shuts it again. “Sorry, that wasn't planned,” Dean chuckles. 

Sam lets the book fall to the table and pins his brother with a look of utter exasperation. “Scarred, Dean. I am scarred for life. I never needed to hear you make those noises.”

“Like you've never heard me before,” Dean says flippantly as he pours himself and Cas a cup of coffee. 

“Never like that!” Sam groans. “Those were accidents. This was freaking _porn._ Cas, you're loud!”

“Dean is louder,” Castiel observes, although he's not entirely sure it's true. Maybe they should test it. Soon. 

Castiel is seated at the table with his coffee and a bagel that Dean produced from somewhere. It's toasted and has butter melting all over it because Cas doesn't like cream cheese, and Dean remembered. Dean sits down beside him, but it's Sam who starts the conversation.

“Remember that call I got right before you froze up?” Sam asks. Castiel tries to remember, and vaguely recalls hearing a ring after he'd thrown the banana across the counter. It wasn't really that he hated them that much, it was more to amuse Dean. “I still don't know who it was. They told me that the gods had gone to war with the angels, and were about ten seconds from shredding the fabric of reality. They told me when those seconds were up, you and Dean were going to lock up. I wasn't going to be able to communicate with either of you. He said you guys were the key to fixing the damage, but Dean could only help you so much. Then he hung up.”

Sam sucks in a breath, and Castiel can see the stress of the situation still lingering behind his eyes. “Obviously, it happened. It was kind of like time froze just around you guys. After five seconds that bulldog just came walking into the room out of freaking nowhere and sat down beside you. I figured if it got past all the warding it couldn't be bad. Then the damn thing started talking to me. Not like Narnia sort of talking, but in here.” Sam reaches up and taps his head. “He told me what you were doing, and how Dean was helping. He didn't seem all that hopeful at first, and then he just perked up and starting licking your hand and barking at you like he was just so pleased and couldn't contain it. And then you went white as a damn sheet and fell off the chair, and Dean snapped out of it and panicked, and that's all I've got on this end.”

“I didn't panic!” Dean protests.

“Yes, you did,” Castiel says. He puts a hand on Dean's knee under the table. “The dog told me I was holding reality together every time I touched a fragment of it, but that I was only half the key. You were the other half. Reality still would have come apart if I hadn't done one very important thing when I woke up.”

“What's that?” Dean asks, but Sam's eyes are already widening. 

“I had to kiss you,” Castiel answers. He squeezes Dean's knee when the connection clicks in the hunter's mind. “I think we had to hold everything together because we've been through something similar. We've torn each other apart, and then put each other back together again. We... loved each other enough to fix it, despite all the things we've done in the past.”

“ _Wait.”_ Dean is actually starting to look mortified. “Are you telling me that we saved reality with true love's fucking kiss?”

A loud thump catches both of their attentions, and when they look down it's to find Sam curled into a ball on the floor, laughing so hard he's wheezing. 

“Shut up!” Dean roars. “ _This is not a Disney movie, what the hell!?”_

Castiel doesn't understand why Dean is so upset, he personally thinks it's amazing. He also thinks there's something he's missing, but it's not important enough to worry about right now.

One of Sam's massive hands grasps the table so he can haul himself up enough to ask, “S-so which one of you was the p-princess?”

Dean lunges across the table and tackles Sam to the floor. 

~

Sam spends the rest of the day making cracks about Dean being a Disney princess and playing kiss scenes from animated movies on his laptop just as Dean walks by. Castiel won't be at all surprised if the laptop is either broken or mysteriously missing later. Or full of porn. 

“Yeah, _animated_ porn!” Dean says eagerly when Castiel accidentally lets his thought slip later. “He'll open the laptop and get hit with a faceful of tentacles!”

The angel is fairly certain he doesn't want to know what Dean is talking about. He's also fairly certain the resulting war between the brothers will be truly hilarious. 

He falls asleep with Dean's arm warm and heavy across his waist, and finds himself on the beach with white sand. 

“You were right.” The bulldog trots into view, walking straight across the water and to Castiel's side. His paws are completely dry. “But there is more to it.”

“I thought there was.” Castiel sits down and reaches out to scratch the bulldog's ears. His tongue lolls out and his back leg thumps in the sand a few times.

“Reality is a tricky thing,” the bulldog says. “In truth, a lot of it is willpower. Most of it, really, is willed into existence by minds and souls. It is real, but there is one thing that is far more real. One thing that will always exist in everything, it will never die.”

Castiel looks down at the dog, and brown eyes that seem entirely too human look back at him.

“Love.”

Castiel smiles. “I thought so. But why us?”

“For the reasons you suspected. But also because yours is a unique love. It has broken boundaries, saved lives and destroyed them. It is incredibly powerful, that is why it caused so much destruction in the beginning of your relationship. You are only just now learning how to handle it.”

“Which is why we're finally settling,” Castiel realizes. “Dean has been so happy this past year, even with the disaster happening in Heaven.”

The dog nods. “Exactly. You're both finally learning to draw on the power in a positive way, and it has affected those around you. Sam has been much happier as well.”

It wasn't just Sam. Everywhere they went lately, people responded to them, and it was almost always in a positive way. Somehow, Castiel hadn't truly noticed the difference. He'd just soaked it up, enjoyed it while he could because a part of him had been certain it wasn't going to last. 

A wide smile graces his face. Now he knows it will. 

~

Castiel wakes up, and he is loved. 

~

END.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment/kudo if you liked it! ^_^ I'll have my second fic up probably over the weekend. It is so very tame compared to this, lol.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave me a comment if you liked it! Or hit the kudos button. Or both. Both would be amazing. :D


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